Fears Worth
by Coconuttii
Summary: Inspired by the first publicly broadcast episode of Dangermouse "The Mystery of the Lost Chord", this is a little unfinished fan fiction which takes a vague look into DM and Penfold's first mission together.


One-shot shite. Written last night, on a spur… I wonder if it would be worth continuing. -- Have a blast, children!

Hm…many "Hard Times" indications, here… I ought to be ashamed. Penfold is Sissy Jube, true, true!

Disclaimer: Dangermouse & Penfold & any attributing characters, save for the fabricated Cosgrove Hall Productions

ooooooooooooooo

Chapter One: Beyond the Loch

The sky overhanging the black lake of Loch Ness was a divergence of weighty azure and raw-wound cerise. Distantly, where the surface of the dark waters fought the evergreen shrouded hilltops to kiss the splendour of the quarrelling sky, a small yellow and orange sports car hastily made its way towards the aged Scottish hotel residing beside the Caledonian Loch.

Inside it, two figures; Dangermouse, the world's greatest secret agent, and Penfold, his faithful assistant, for the third time readied themselves for the impending assignment.

"I cannot stress how very important it is for you to be casual when you introduce yourself, Penfold." The white mouse informed, leaning forward fixedly to drag the black gear stick into fourth.

"Y…yes, chief." In the passenger's seat beside him, the smaller individual added timorously, his large, childlike eyes focused purposefully on the yellow glove compartment before him.

Dangermouse turned to regard his new assistant. How silly the boy looked in a primary colour blue tailored suit and tie!

Obviously, the department at Scotland Yard had taken it upon themselves to 'suggest' the attire: the colour was positively unappealing; it was far too big, and the vintage far exceeded the wearer. Really! It was like an attempt to guise apple juice as cider. Surrendering purity to acidity simply for the universal 'maturity' often christened upon the mention of the alcohol content.

And the size of the ensemble… the sheer SIZE! It was ridiculous! The cuffs of the sleeves were ever-dangling over Penfold's fingers, his suit ends' dragging beneath the soles of his black leather shoes… why was Colonel 'K trying so hard turn this little lamb into a ram?

More to the point, Dangermouse blinked, when had he ever had such a passion for fashion himself?

"Alright. Let's run over it once more, shall we?" The older agent offered, steering into the clearing of the McAsty acre hotel district.

"Yes, Sir," Penfold replied quietly.

A brief, and stiflingly uncomfortable pause passed, until the white secret agent urged, "Well…?"

The hamster blinked shortly, and pressed on, "I-I'm Huey Depole, but my friends call me 'De'! I'm your photographer-

"And I am?" Dangermouse posed.

"You are… Dennis Moors! You're a newspaper reporter for the Piccadilly Times." Penfold answered, his eyes set on his thin fingers, which clenched fretfully on his thighs, like blind snakes discovering the copper-coin odour of its own blood, dry and broken in the desert, falling into quaking earth.

"And we are reporting…" The boy's cheeks were peppered an even rosy hue, yet he gallantly proceeded. Why was he so nervous? He could hear, see…even SMELL the fear coveting himself… and if even HE could, then, no doubt, the perfect being beside him could do so doubly.

"T-the-

The car slowed to a halt, as its wheels collided steadily with the cobblestone pathway. Turning the engine off into a drowsed state of comatose, the white mouse turned again to appraise his partner carefully.

Penfold responded by smiling fretfully, his cheeks still a flustered shade of pink. Narrowing his good eye respectfully, Dangermouse began, "Are you absolutely sure you can handle this, Penfold?"

"Oh, crumbs, yes, Chief!" The young hamster cried, edging forward in his chair, as though he were testing the limit of his seat-belt.

DM's grim expression did not falter for a good while, despite the assurance of his young charge, gaze returning to the entry gates of the McAsty lodge, "After all… you understand that this is a very important assignment, do you not? Even the slightest falter could break our cover."

Unconsciously smoothing a hand over the fine leather of the steering wheel, he mulled, "Perhaps this IS too great a first step, after all..."

The striking white mouse stole a glance back towards his new assistant, noted the large, teary brown eyes, the trembling upper body, and the slender little fingers clenching at the hems of blue sleeves, and relaxed back into his seat with a sigh.

"But Sir… I'm alright, really! I promise you, I'm ready," Penfold said, unwaveringly, "I read over the reports, the briefing – I'm not frightened! And as you know, Chief, I am a self-confessed coward." The little hamster added, in his usual high-pitch.

DM turned, and leaned forward, placing a firm palm on the shaft of the Mark 3 handbrake, and regarded his charge with an intent look of appeal, "So – you feel you are up to it? You haven't the vaguest hint of apprehension? Even if you are the slightest bit hesitant about your condition, you MUST tell me now, Penfold. It's absolutely understandable that you would feel so. It's only your first mission… however, it is extremely important. If you feel you may not be up to it –

"Honestly, I'm fine!" Penfold cut his superior off, before adding an apologetic and shaky, "Sir."

DM did not answer altogether at first; however, after settling himself back into the leathered comfort of his seat, he nodded, "Very well. If you are certain."

With that, the earth beneath the Mark 3 tore under the muscle of its broad tires, and the journey to the Tawny Inn resumed.

ooooooooooooooo

"Sir?" Penfold tugged at DM's waxen leather sleeve of his one-piece white suit, as they pursued a rather squat, and burgundy kilt-clad owl down a faintly lit corridor.

"Hm…?" The elder agent replied airily, his ever-reviewing eye set on the owl before him with a vague suspicion.

"I don't like the look of that McNasty chap who runs this hotel…" the cute hamster whispered, his hands returning to clutch at his petite little suitcase: a defence heavily popular amid lost children.

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about, Penfold," DM smiled softly, "I'm here."

The secret agent's assistant nodded quickly, a flash of relief scattered across his chest, as marbles descending upon a tiled floor, and to accompany it, came a sweet little smile, "Yes, Sir…"

"And his name is Mr. McASTY," DM chuckled, "though this evening, that may suit him more aptly."

Penfold hadn't had the time to reflect upon the fact before, but… he was indeed, quite fortunate to have such a kind, compassionate superior. It was Dangermouse who had chosen him from the ranks of the Yard's agency school, fully aware of the hamster's flaws, and childlike manner. Fully aware that his grades were not up to scratch, fully aware that a distinguished, elevated English agent would deserve an equally wonderful sidekick – to be aware that Dangermouse, was, indeed, the best of the best – however, still very much aware of these implications, the white mouse selected Penfold, and Penfold alone.

The hamster recalled the situation all too well, in a physical education hall, brimming with eager, and worthy candidates, dressed in upstanding, middle-class graduation shawls, the pinnacle of class, wealth and knowledge, ready to undergo whatever instructions their agent superiors desired to give.

Then, there was Penfold. A young, endearing, and wide-eyed pupil, parents of working class, deprived as a church mouse, and naive as if he were only graduating from the womb rather than her Majesty's secret service.

Penfold could remember the awe that passed over his classmates as the esteemed Dangermouse entered through the slide doors of the examination hall, his stride elegant, and fluid, as if her were not a mouse, but a sleek and graceful tomcat.

He had heard of Dangermouse before, but knew very little, when compared to his classmates, who knew anything and everything that was at their liberty to know. Penfold knew that he was Britain's greatest secret agent, knew that he was an exceptionally 'sought-after' bachelor, and had a fond liking for 'Eggs Benedict'… but that was where his knowledge of the White Legend ended.

Exchanging a quip with Colonel K and company, DM kindly addressed his captivated audience, bowing somewhat in order to establish a welcoming, rather than omnipotent demeanour to the young graduates.

Penfold registered his classmates' laughter, uneasy, perplexed chortles, of well-heeled leeches eager to impress, and gain themselves a hefty lump sum for their potential future career. Penfold had long since given up on the chance of ever being partnered with the wonderful and perfect DM, and so, merely fell quiet, and took a strange, if devoted liking to the floor.

Gradually, the white mouse had made his way down the aisle of hopefuls, greeting each benevolently with a nod of the head, and a thorough handshake. Until, whilst passing a finicky grey gerbil, his golden eye fell upon Penfold's bowed head.

The white mouse had bowed slightly at the hip, pivoting to take in the figure of the petite, thin little hamster before him, patiently waiting for the graduate to notice his presence.

Only when a heady, wicked wave of titters crossed the extent of the hall, amplified as drowned cries beneath water, did Penfold glance upwards, startled as he noted the pallid visage before him. He blushed, feeling the heat of his coy nature intensify with the added attention of a room full of students, and he did the only thing he could think of.

"Oh, oh eck! Oh, crumbs, sorry, Sir!" He sputtered, before bowing his head, and falling silent a second time, a gentle, if tense smile playing over his lips.

He feared the agent's reaction… feared his tutor's reaction, and in turn, his father's reaction to this inopportune outburst, and gulped down the concrete mass that was his heart, from the constricting rings of his throat, back into his chest, beneath his left lung.

With all these thoughts, Penfold was astounded by the short, friendly quip of laughter that fell from the white agent's tongue, the sound as silver bells upon glass, and was doubly taken aback when an ashen gloved palm was extended in his favour, "Ha. I always found it difficult to stay awake in these ceremonies, too. I would have been under a table by now, I assure you."

Penfold trembled; feeling the heat wash over him, as if he had opened a furnace within an igloo, surrounding him, as he shakily extended his own, small hand in return.

The white mouse took the proffered palm, his graceful white hand gargantuan in the contrast, and they shook, "Dangermouse. DM, more rightly," DM informed, as if Penfold were blind, "And you are…?"

"Oh, erm… P-Penfold, Sir. Earnest Penfold." The hamster said, voice level quirky, anxious and high. He had always despised his first name. What he would have given to be called Malcolm, or Alfie.

"Ah. It's a pleasure, Penfold." The secret agent smiled, leaning aback, and withdrawing his right hand. Though, just as he had planned to utter another word, Mr. Choakumchild, Penfold's utilitarianism-following tutor, placed a large, fat hand on DM's shoulder, steering him towards the mole's better, more fact-fed students, leaving Penfold in his dust.

With a last glance over his shoulder to the young hamster, Dangermouse resumed his assessment of the secret service's new generation, and Penfold's eyes returned to their glorious task of courting the floor.

Penfold smiled to himself as he followed DM down the Tawny Inn's many weaving corridors, twisting and curving up several helix staircases, and blinked.

He recalled when he was taken into his Headmaster's office, dread devouring his frame, as he sat before the Moose's colossal ornate desk, awaiting certain dismissal…

"Your papers are ready, Earnest. You are ready to go." His Headmaster had informed.

Penfold had glanced down, and nodded: there was nothing to be said, his fate was inescapable. It was inevitable. All he could do was think of what his parents would do when he brought them the miserable news of his failure…

Glancing up, his Headmaster cocked a heavy eyebrow, and started, "Oi. What ever is the matter, boy? You should be over the moon!"

Penfold tilted his head, feeling his heart sink, "I just… don't know what me Mum's going to say, Sir. She always wanted me to be something good when I grew up…"

"Well, then. What has she got to complain about, boy? What did she want you to be? A skivvy? You're an agent, of her Majesty's Secret Service! Now, stop dawdling and get yourself outside! He's waiting for you in the ground's car park." The dark moose blurted stridently, gesturing a hoof to the door leading to the lush woodland of Wilsdon Green.

Penfold blinked, "Who's waiting?"

Glancing up quickly, his Headmaster stood himself upon sturdy, strapping legs, hands pressed solidly on his desks surface, "Agent 303. DM. Dangermouse!"

"I'm…with DM?" The young hamster uttered softly, dark eyes wide.

"Yes!"

"You mean… THE DM? The White Wonder DM?"

"For bloody hell's sake, YES!"

"Cor…" Penfold gasped gently, bouncing blissfully in his chair, "Eee, it's like a birthday, except it's not, because it's February the 8th, and my birthday's already gone… Oh, Sir! It's like a second birthday! Like the Queen, Sir!"

The hamster smiled, though soon lost his vigour when he registered the heaving mass of powerfully built pelt brace against him, seeming as the soul embodiment of rage itself.

Penfold staggered, grasped his bags and cried shrilly as he was chased out the entrance gate, and into the car park by the livid lecturer.

This disturbing picture awakening him from his fond recollections, Penfold cocked an eyebrow, and blinked, "Cor… I never saw anyone more in need of some camphorated oil!"

"Sorry?" DM countered in a tender fashion, below the ears of Mr. McAsty.

"Erm… nothing, Chief." Penfold returned, faintly.

ooooooooooooooo

TBC

Hm… it gives you the willies, no?


End file.
